


Dumb Luck

by Nekochi



Category: 7kpp, Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekochi/pseuds/Nekochi
Summary: Tyra was not the typical high ranking lady of the inner court. She wasn’t charming, pretty, or charismatic, and she was completely lacking in any kind of cunning or manipulative abilities. In short, Tyra was the type of girl that Corval excelled at destroying and certainly not one anyone would expect to be alive at 23 years of age.





	

The existence of luck was something Tyra had never had reason to question. All the evidence for it had played out again and again throughout her life. After all, she was not the typical high ranking lady of the inner court. She wasn’t charming, pretty, or charismatic. She had a tendency to fumble her words. She was completely lacking in any kind of cunning or manipulative abilities. She was blunt, unambitious, and entirely incapable of advanced planning. In short, Tyra was the type of girl that Corval excelled at destroying and certainly not one anyone would expect to be alive at 23 years of age.

But Tyra was alive. Against all odds and despite multiple assassination attempts, she was in perfect health. The first assassination attempt had happened at the first event she hosted after the party she had planned to welcome Constance. She had just sat down with a rather charming gentleman and poured him a drink when she noticed that the glass she had given him was dirty. It was terribly embarrassing. Clearly, there was only one thing she could do. When his attention was diverted for a moment, Tyra switched the cups. Much better she drink out of a dirty glass than have him notice his glass was dirty and become offended. It wasn’t until more than an hour later when she realized that the charming young man had poisoned her drink.

It wasn’t long after that that Tyra avoided another assassination attempt, this time by tripping on the hem of her dress, running into the assassin, knocking the knife out of their hand and their head against the floor. The assassin was knocked out cold and Tyra was left with nothing worse than a bruised knee. It wasn’t long before these—and the many other narrow escapes that followed—began to attract attention. Not just the usual attention of assassins and court gossip, no, Tyra had unwittingly become a muse.

She saw the first of these works at the empress’s birthday party. It was the debut of a brand new satirical play about a clumsy lady of the inner court who made her way from one scrape to the next, surviving due to unbelievable luck, or—according to some interpretations of the character—perhaps just the appearance of luck created by an incredibly shrewd lady. After all, no one could be quite _that_ dumb. It was not hard to figure out just who the inspiration for the plays—for the one at the empress’s party was such a success that it was quickly followed by others—in fact, some of the only slightly embellished escapades of the heroine were ones that Tyra had thought hadn’t made it past herself and a few close friends. How incredibly embarrassing.

Certainly, Tyra had never meant for Lyon to find out about the plays. But it wasn’t for nothing that she was known for having a big mouth just the right size for her foot. “Oh, you don’t have to worry! It’s not like it was my first assassination attempt.” It was only when Lyon dropped the book he had been studying and stared at Tyra in undisguised shock that she realized what she had said. “Um, what I mean to say is… Horses. I am not good with horses.”

Lyon gave her a dubious look, studying her face as it turned a deep scarlet under his inspection. Oh dear. _Now_ what was she supposed to say? “Horses,” he repeated. “The accident at the cliff was no accident.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” She tried to shake it off with a grin, but Lyon was clearly having none of it.

“And you said that wasn’t your first.” He stepped closer to her, book forgotten.

Tyra quickly averted her eyes. Oh, she _had_ done it this time, hadn’t she? He had been commenting on her clumsiness. No one had mentioned a _thing_ about assassination attempts! Why had she let the cat out of the bag? _Again_. “What I mean to say is… You shouldn’t believe everything you read. Most of the plays are exaggerations.”

“Plays?”

She swallowed a gasp. How had _that_ got out? And Lyon, of all people, was the last one she wanted to know about her humiliation. “Something from the Corvali court. Absolutely nothing of importance. I don’t suppose we can pretend this never happened?” He didn’t say a word. Merely stared at her with a look that told her he wasn’t about to forget her careless words.

“The plays, Tyra.”

Tyra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I may or may not have survived a few assassination attempts. Completely by accident. Word of that sort of thing tends to get around and… I may have inspired a play… Or, well, closer to fourteen by now.”

A rather strange look was passing over Lyon’s face, like he was unsure whether or not he should be laughing. At the outset of their conversation, Tyra had been hoping to alleviate his worries. He had sounded worried at least, when he talked about how clumsy she was. Or perhaps defensive, for the conversation had gone from his inability to remember mealtimes (Tyra rarely missed meals or sleep, at least) to her own tendency to trip over her own hems and uneven tiles and often nothing at all in quick order. An expression that was half concern and half amusement settled over the duke’s face. “Perhaps you should show me these plays.”

“Must I, really?”

“Would you rather I ask Lord Blain?”

Panic. “Oh, please don’t. I don’t think he’s made the connection yet.” Yes, there definitely was a smile on Lyon’s face, damn him. “Oh, _very well_.”

The next few hours were exceedingly awkward. Tyra placed a stack of scripts in front of her intended and he attacked them with even greater voraciousness than was typical of him. He read in complete silence, his face blank, but his eyebrows expressive as he glanced up at her from time to time to mark the silence with a question. “A dirty glass?” A slightly guilty nod. “Floor wax?”

Tyra perked up slightly. “Oh, that one was embellished!”

“So, you didn’t cause an assassin to fall down the stairs?”

Fidgeting. “Well, yes, I suppose I did… But it was lamp oil!” The rest of the night followed much the same pattern. Surprised questions. Guilty acknowledgements or fervent denial. And, as always, Tyra ending up the worse for any match of words. The odd part of it was… Somehow, Tyra found that, this time, she didn’t mind so very much.


End file.
